


Bedside Manner, with Robots

by AnonEhouse



Series: Starvation Sleep-Deprivation Stories [15]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Comfort, Gen, Humor, non-sexual illness play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-28
Updated: 2015-03-28
Packaged: 2018-03-19 23:40:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3628563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnonEhouse/pseuds/AnonEhouse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve's not a hypochondriac, but he does have some good memories associated with being ill. Oddly enough, so does Tony.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bedside Manner, with Robots

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place after 'Avengers' in a 'verse where none of the following movies happened- in particular not Iron Man 3 or Captain America: The Winter Soldier.
> 
> The 14th fic was supposed to be the end, but I thought of another fic while I was still ill. So THIS is the END of the series.

(If you are reading this on any PAY site this is a STOLEN WORK, the author has NOT Given Permission for it to be here. If you're paying to read it, you're being cheated too because you can read it on Archiveofourown for FREE.)

Steve's a realist, he always was. He doesn't think there's anything romantic about being sick, not like the stories his mother told him about young women _wishing_ they'd get TB so they could die all pale and ethereal-looking. Of course, she said, that was in the days before TB became more of a poor person's disease. That took the romance out of it.

It sure wasn't romantic when his mom caught it, and couldn't shake it.

Steve had been lucky to survive being a sickly kid, why would he ever want to be sick again? He didn't, not really. But... it would be nice once in a while not to have to be the rock for the world, the big man in every crowd, the hero of every peril, an unbreakable symbol. He didn't dwell on it, of course not, that would be stupid. But sometimes he'd wistfully remember how nice it was when his mother tucked the covers close and ran a cool washcloth over this face, made him his favorite cherry Jell-o, rubbed his achy chest with mustard plasters and his throat with Vapo-Rub and gave him sweetened boiled orange peel water to sip. Just sometimes he'd think of Bucky bringing over a comic book he'd got somehow and climbing into bed next to Steve all warm and close, and read to him until he fell asleep dreaming of adventures? Idle thoughts. That's all it was, just idle thoughts. They weren't the good old days, just the few bright spots in some pretty miserable days and it was silly to miss mustard plasters, of all things. They smelled awful, and if you left them on too long, they burned, and he got called 'weiner' and 'pretzel' for days afterward. But still...

Steve wasn't thinking of being sick after the battle with Dustroid, or Disastroid, or whatever he called himself. The villain's superpower of gathering dust and mold and sand into 'devils' had been a pain because there was nothing solid to fight, and it was impossible to see him in the middle of all the flying debris, but the Avengers had finally managed to round up all the devils over the harbor and Thor on one side and Iron Man on the other had got them to smash into each other blasting them into harmless zephyrs to dump their loads of filth into the harbor, which was a shame, but hardly the worst thing that had happened to the bay. 

No, Steve was just thinking he was glad it was over without them having to call on Hulk, and checked to see that Natasha and Clint had got Dust-master, whoever, in charge. And then two colliding devils rebounded in an unexpected way, and he was absolutely covered in muck. He'd been looking up, so he got it in his eyes, and nose and even his mouth, since he'd been giving commands. Even his EARS were full of the disgusting stuff. It smelled and tasted like... Actually, he didn't want to think what it smelled and tasted like. It was horrible, the worst. He sneezed, and his eyes watered and finally he leaned over and gave up the battle with his stomach, clutching his knees and clearing his system out so far he thought he recognized peanuts from Coney Island seventy years ago. He was so absorbed in himself he was startled when Iron Man landed next to him with his usual thumping flair.

"You all right, Cap?" Tony actually sounded concerned.

Steve waved a hand, still too busy to talk.

"JARVIS said there weren't any particularly harmful bacteria or viruses in that stuff," Tony said. "Are you sick?"

Steve got himself under control and wiped his streaming nose. "No," he said, and he couldn't help it, he'd been thinking of his mother, so it came out wistful, "I don't get sick. Not since the serum. I'll be fine, it was just... Disgusting, that's all." He straightened. Tony had his helmet off and was looking at him with one of his rare 'I actually see you and maybe I care a little about you' looks. Steve felt slightly alarmed. 

"Huh," Tony said, thoughtfully as if remembering facts and adding them up. "Your mother was a nurse, wasn't she?"

"Yeah," Steve said warily. He really didn't like it when Tony was thoughtful. "Well, we need to go report to Fury now." He shook most of the dirt off and started walking back from the docks towards one of the helicarrier pickup points.

"Hmm, you know, let's not." Before Steve could stop him, as if he could, Tony put on his helmet and Steve heard him override Fury's comm. protocols. "Hey, Fury," Tony said, which was polite for him, "Cap and I are kinda bushed. How about we put off the debriefing until tomorrow. I'll come along quietly and even provide real notes."

There was a second's silence, then Fury said, "Done!" Steve could understand that. Tony either skipped debriefings or else whined and made a nuisance of himself during them, so this must seem like a once in a lifetime opportunity to Fury.

Steve sighed. "All right, what do you have in mind?"

"Nothing bad, Captain. Just you know, take a day off. Stay in the Tower. Relax. Your kind of relaxing."

Steve had to admit that didn't sound bad, and if Tony was suddenly becoming aware of other people's feelings, he supposed that was something to encourage. "Fine."

Tony spread his arms in offer, and Steve accepted. Flying with Iron Man was always great, although he didn't like to tell Tony that. The man was already insufferably smug on so many fronts, why give him more ammunition? Iron Man set Steve down on the penthouse balcony, and then landed on the other end, where the machinery stripped the suit from him as he walked. Steve didn't get to see this very often, and it was really very beautiful, not only in the smooth perfection of the match between Tony's stride and the machines circling around him, but in his perfect confidence while huge grippers that could take apart metal grabbed at his head and every part of his body. So he watched before he entered the penthouse himself, and when he did come in, Tony was smiling at him.

"You like my 'car wash'?" he asked.

"It's something," Steve admitted.

Tony grinned wider. "Ok, here's the plan, you go to your floor, wash up, get comfortable, wear flannel pajamas if you have them, and I'll be down to join you with the supplies for relaxing."

Steve gave Tony a dirty look. "I can relax on my own, and I don't need supplies."

"No, no, I swear, I know I have a reputation, but Scout's honor, pinkie swear and all that, I'm not thinking of anything dirty, bad, or wrong. Trust me?"

Well, Steve knew Tony to be a lot of things, but not a liar. He had too little control of his tongue, for one thing. And he could count on Steve knocking his block off if he went too far with a joke. "Ok, fine. Flannel pajamas. Anything else?"

"Nope, I've got it all handled. See you, Captain!" Tony waved cheerfully and then went back towards the personal quarters of the penthouse. Steve shrugged and went to the elevator.

A long, hot shower later, and Steve was feeling his muscles loosen a little. Putting on the blue flannel pajamas he hadn't known were in his nightwear drawer seemed a bit foolish in his climate-controlled rooms, but he had to admit the soft fabric made him _feel_ warmer. He went into the bedroom and picked up his latest book to continue reading while he waited for Tony, but he kept finding his mind wandering, and didn't really absorb anything. 

After a while there was a knock on the bedroom door. "You decent?" Tony asked.

"Yeah. Come on in." Steve braced himself.

Tony came in, wearing a brown and gold paisley silk brocade pajama set. It didn't really seem Tony's style, and Steve noticed that the seams were slightly shiny from wear, and the sleeves and trousers were rolled up a little, so he made his own guess about its origin, and figured it wasn't anything to ask questions about. The white canvas bag with a faded Red Cross painted on it, though, that seemed fair game.

"What's that?" Steve asked, pointing at the bag.

"This," Tony said fondly, patting the bag lightly, "is the Magic Bag of Feel Better." He tilted his head slightly. "It belonged to my mother."

"Oh." Steve felt that was a conversation they didn't really need to have, despite Tony's sudden need to share. "Ok, so what do I do?"

"Get in bed, get comfortable, plenty of pillows behind your back." Tony didn't exactly push Steve, but it was a bit like a sheepdog frisking about until Steve just gave in gracefully. Tony grabbed Steve's shoulder and pulled him slightly forward once he was in bed, fluffed the pillows, crammed them back, paused with his head tilted as if he was trying to remember, and then he _tucked_ Steve in, all down his side.

This was weird, but not... you know, not unpleasant. Tony hadn't smirked, or groped him. And you know. Steve never could get the blankets really tight around himself.

"Good?" Tony asked.

"Uh huh. Fine."

"Great." Tony set the Magic Bag down on Steve's side-table and began unpacking it, piling bottles and jars and little plastic tubs and other things, less recognizable, on the table. "I figure some things are universal." He pulled on a pair of rubber gloves and unscrewed the largest jar, scooping out a glob that smelled unmistakably of Vick's. "Open your shirt."

"I've read about stuff like this on the Internet, Tony," Steve said, without moving to unbutton his shirt. "I'm not...'into infantilism' or 'playing doctor' or whatever this is."

"It's not that." Tony rolled his eyes. "It's just, I think... your mom and mine had a lot in common. Sometimes it's nice just to remember them."

"Huh." Steve didn't know what to say to that. It might be true. But did he want to expose that much of himself to Tony Stark of all people? But then, who better? He probably had more to fear from people thinking him a momma's boy than Steve did. "Yeah. It's nice. Ok, go ahead." The Vick's was cold at first, and then it warmed and the smell rose and tickled his nose and it was ... like body memory. He found himself relaxing as Tony covered the Vick's with a square of gauze and then rebuttoned his shirt over it.

Tony took off the gloves, and tossed them into the wastebasket, before peeling the top from one of the small plastic tubs and handing it to Steve with a small spoon, the kind you'd give a child, but then the tub was pretty small. "Cherry good? I've got lemon and strawberry too."

"Cherry's fine." Steve ate the Jell-O slowly. It tasted like he remembered. He could almost hear his mother encouraging him to swallow despite his sore throat.

"There's orange juice, too." Tony pointed out small rectangular boxes with bent straws stuck to them. "And saltines." Tony looked at the bed and then cleared his throat. "Sometimes, mom would get in bed with me and hold me. You know. It was nice."

Steve didn't bother thinking about it. He tossed back the covers on the other side. "If you snore, I'm kicking you out."

Tony grinned. "I never." He reached back into the bag and took out a stack of... comic books... comic books sealed in heavy plastic.

Steve recognized archival packaging, and a glance showed the date on the topmost one was in the 1960's. "Tony, you're not going to open those? Aren't they collectors' items? Doesn't reading them lower the value?"

"Yes," Tony said, "and yes, and yes. But _not_ reading them makes them valueless." Tony got into bed and settled comfortably close to Steve. For a little guy, Tony ran hot. It was nice. Steve always felt a little cold. "They were already collectors' items when my mother bought them for me." He opened the first book and showed the cover to Steve, which said 'METAL MEN' in bold letters. "I always loved robots."

"Why am I not surprised?" Steve ate his Jell-O and listened as Tony gave a brief impassioned speech about what a dick Doc Magnus, the creator of the Metal Men, was.

"Really, his mentor was the evil T. O. Morrow so if he'd turned out to be a super villain that would have been fine, but he turned his genius and the wealth he made from his patent royalties into making liquid metal robots with human personalities. And he succeeded! Look at Tina!" Tony turned a page to point at a lovely platinum- platinum all over-blonde. "Do you see anything wrong with Tina?"

"Nope," Steve said, becoming amused by Tony's impassioned defense of a comic book character.

"She was Magnus's finest creation! The strength of pure platinum, with all the best properties of the metal, and the body and personality of a gorgeous woman who loved him! Her responsometer gave her human intelligence, which admittedly must have been flawed to make her fall for that prick. He found her _annoying_ and was going to put her in a science museum!"

Steve choked a little on his Jell-O, having more than once heard Tony threaten to send Dum-E to a community college. But Tony never meant it. 

Tony gave Steve a sidelong look and then calmed down. "Anyway, bad guys show up and Magnus has to make more robots. They're all real people and great, and he's always annoyed that they're too useful to get rid of. A real dick. So, anyway, this is issue one, and now you know not to think Magnus is the hero." 

And then Tony leaned against Steve and began reading the comic to him. Tony had a nice, smooth voice, when he wasn't upset. Gradually, Steve found himself slipping down in the bed, and his eyelids slid shut. Tony kept talking, but he reached over and took the empty Jell-O tub and put it on the table.

"Thanks," Steve muttered.

"Sure thing, Cap," Tony replied, patting him on the shoulder before returning to the adventures of field leader Gold, strong man Iron, slow-witted and loyal Lead, hot-headed Mercury, self-doubting and insecure Tin, and of course, the beautiful Tina. Their creator might be a dick, but they had a good team. Steve smiled.


End file.
